The Wolf and the Art Thief
by Jinko
Summary: Tumblr prompt: AU. Stiles is an art thief tries to steal from Derek. Requested by mimi-hiddleston. The plan was as simple as it could be: distract the mark with long legs and raid the loft.


**Disclaimer: I am not profiting from this hobby of mine.**

**Status: Complete**

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**The Wolf and the Art Thief**

**-Jinko-**

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The plan was as simple as it could be: distract the mark with long legs and raid the loft.

Stiles had lost count of how many successful nights he and his crew had made since they became a crew and stopped working solo. Sure, the payoff might not be as great anymore — they had to split it — but they weren't losing too much and could strike several times a month.

He'd started stealing once his mother died — shoplifting at the local mini-mart or grabbing a glass animal from a friend's house on his way home. He wasn't sure why it started after she died, it just did. When he progressed to electronics and things he could sell, he quickly learnt how useful it was to have the sheriff as his father. Anything Stiles wanted to know about the criminal world was laid out for him and it was through his dad that he learnt how to cover his tracks and how to pick a target.

The only time he'd gotten caught was by a pair of thieves like himself.

Stiles had been nineteen at the time and had decided to up his game. Beacon Hills was a small town, so when Coach Finstock's mother passed away and he inherited her diamonds, it became the talk of the town. Finstock promised his mother that he wouldn't sell the diamonds and had planned to move them into a security box in the bank, but the coach was infamous for his procrastination and anyone who'd spent an hour with him knew that the diamonds would still be in his house months after he received them.

Stiles waited three months before making his move and he ran straight into McCall and Argent. He'd known them from school but had never been close to them.

The three of them had been in shock that they'd be caught, let alone that they'd been trying to rob the same man on the same night at the same time.

Scott called it fate.

They gave up that night, knowing it would be messy to sort that shit out, and met up at a coffee shop the next morning to discuss what they were going to do about it.

Allison had the most experience out of any of them. Her family was like that, apparently, and had seen the potential in Scott to become a world-class thief. They trained him, like they trained her, and set them on their way once they turned eighteen.

They agreed to work together this one time only and to split whatever they got out of the diamonds by three. The heist was effortless, the most simplest success Stiles had ever had, and they used the Argent's fence to get a lot more than Stiles would have on his own.

Scott, quite simply, wanted to form a crew with the three of them. Allison and Stiles were against it but eventually caved when Scott proposed another heist that needed three people.

From there, they became a family. Stiles wasn't too sure what was going on between Scott and Allison — they were the most on-off couple he'd ever seen, and that included all the pairings in _Gossip Girl_ (he'd been sick that one time and Netflix — _shut up_) but he could see how someone could love either of them. Scott became his brother and Allison, his sister, and he swore to love them both even if they stopped loving each other but they could go fuck themselves if they ever asked him to pick sides.

They moved in together, leaving Beacon Hills and heading for the city. The job was addicting and just being in such a target-rich environment made them high. Their success-rate was at, roughly, ninety-seven per cent and the money they pulled in would have them set for life by the time they were twenty-five.

The issue was getting to twenty-five, because when they were twenty-one, they had their first real upset.

The target this time was Isaac Lahey. They knew him from high school, all those years ago. He'd been orphaned at the age of sixteen and was taken in by the richest family (and the only mark Stiles and co never made a move on because they were on the Argent's Do Not Touch list — why, Stiles would find out later) in Beacon Hills: the Hales.

Isaac moved away from the Hales to the city when he graduated from the community college to get himself a job and word is he had one of the few Carpaccio pieces not in a museum.

They'd have to be stupid not to go for it.

So they completely disregarded the Do Not Touch order Isaac had extended to him and followed him for a month to figure out his schedule.

He worked in an architecture firm, a nine-to-five job (Stiles could never imagine that, thank you very much early retirement), and he'd go out for drinks with his co-workers every Friday night, to a bar just around the corner from the firm's office.

Again, the plan was as simple as it could be: distract the mark with long legs and raid the loft.

Allison hated being the decoy — really, they all did since Stiles was a feminist at heart and Scott didn't want anyone looking at his girlfriend's legs — but it really was the best plan. If they were robbing a woman (particularly an older, cougar-type), they'd send in Scott, but they trusted Isaac was a simple heterosexual man who didn't have a girlfriend.

They were wrong.

Allison could tell two minutes in that Isaac wanted nothing to do with her long, shapely legs and would settle for a man with Scott's arse, if they way he looked at other men was any indication.

She called it off and they decided to send Scott in instead next week.

The next issue came from their fight mid-week, that left them broken up. Again. And then Allison fell sick.

It was like everything was falling apart to make sure they wouldn't break the rules of the Argent list.

But Scott and Stiles were persistent. Stiles knew the layout of the loft apartment Isaac owned. The locks weren't difficult to pick at all (surprising, given the art he was hiding) and he was positive he could lift the piece on his own.

They left Allison in bed with chicken soup and a hot water bottle and headed out to earn their millions.

Scott went one way and Stiles went the other and everything was absolutely perfect.

Stiles wore a beanie and slung a guitar case over his shoulder and took a taxi that put him close enough to walk to Isaac's apartment complex.

It really was as simple as he'd planned it, going through the building without having to worry about security cameras or other people and when he finally reached the sixth floor, he picked the locks like they were nothing.

The loft was an intimidating place, honestly. It was a large, open space with hardly a kitchen to speak of, a work desk pushed to the back of the floor with the floor-to-ceiling windows behind it. There was an upstairs area but Stiles didn't have to bother with that. He found the painting almost straight away and got to work.

The moonlight coming through the windows was enough for him to work with so he didn't bother with a torch or turning on the lights lest he garners the attention of anyone in the nearby buildings.

Stiles shrugged off the guitar case, opened it, pulled out the acoustic guitar he had in it and pulled the back off the guitar, where he had his tools and a tube to put the canvas in.

The frame wasn't its original, so Stiles had no issue with taking it out and leaving it.

The issue came from the pair of glowing red lights he saw on the other side of the loft when he pulled the painting off the wall and turned to set it on the ground. He hadn't seen them when he'd entered and — Jesus, where they coming closer?

Stiles pushed himself up and gasped when a man came into view, stepping into the light.

Where Stiles was a waif of a thing, this man was a muscled piece that would be favoured by artists all over the world of any period but his eyes, man. They were burning red. He was shirtless, only in a pair of low-hanging sweatpants, and his hair was messy from sleep, and as he moved closer to Stiles, Stiles felt his heart leap into his throat as he instinctually stepped back until he was pressed up against the wall where they painting once hung.

Stiles thought to run. He thought to dash off to the side, leaving his equipment behind, but the moment his muscles tensed to do that, the man (monster? Thing?) had Stiles caged between the wall, his massive arms and his terrifying body, moving quicker than Stiles could see.

What Stiles did see were the four pointed canines, which prompted his outburst.

"Holy fuck; I'm robbing a vampire."

And the guy blinked once, twice, like he wasn't expecting that to come out of Stiles' mouth, before he growled, lowly, and Stiles was forced to reconsider.

"A werewolf. Imma hop onto that train to Nopeville, if you don't mind — oh my _God, stop talking_."

Nerves had a strange way of presented themselves to Stiles and the inability to stop talking normally followed.

He growled again and slipped a hand behind Stiles' neck and Stiles cringed because he could feel the claws on the tips of those fingers where average nails were supposed to be and started tugging him towards the other side of the loft, where a bed was.

"Okay, okay, I really don't know where this is going…" He was cut off as he was thrown face-first into the blankets and was physically turned over so the werewolf could straddle his chest. Stiles saw him reach for a pillow and started to struggle because all he could think about was the werewolf using the pillow to smother him, which would really suck because that's not the kind of death you'd expect from a fucking werewolf, but then he was clawing at the pillowcase and was using it to tie Stiles' wrists to the headboard of the bed and really, dude, what the fuck?

"Really, don't get me wrong, this is totally hot and all, but I'm confused and I promise I won't tell anyone that you're a werewolf, I promise, and we can both completely forget that this ever happened if you let me leave. My friends know where I am…" The man climbed off him and Stiles may or may not have felt a spike of arousal when he spotted the tattoo between his shoulder blades and he headed towards the spiral staircase Stiles hadn't paid any attention to. He disappeared up them for a moment and when he came back, he was talking on a phone.

"…caught a thief trying to take the Carpaccio," he said, and Stiles could see that those fangs were gone and his eyes weren't glowing any more.

"Whoa! Did you call the cops? Dude, that's so not…" Stiles stopped when the werewolf glared at him. "Okay. Shutting up."

"No, I didn't kill him. Christ, Isaac. He's tied up." He took a deep breath and must've been listening to what Isaac was saying. "I won't turn him in. He didn't get away with it." There was another pause. "Don't come home for a while, though…I don't care. I don't need to hear that." He hung up, then, and slipped the phone into a back pocket Stiles hadn't realised he had.

"So what are you going to do with me?" Stiles asked and the werewolf sat down on the edge of the bed again. "You're not gonna eat me, are you? I'm all stringy and bony. Surely a big, strong werewolf like you would want something with a little bit of meat on it, right? I'm not…" Stiles choked on his own words when the werewolf leant down and nuzzled his throat, taking an exaggerated whiff of him.

"This is how this is going to happen," he said simply, pulling back. "I'm going to let you go, at which point you have two choices. You can come upstairs with me, where I'll fuck you into the mattress, or you can leave without the painting. Either way, I won't tell the police and you won't tell anyone you happened across a werewolf in the middle of the night."

"I — what?"

"Furthermore, I now have your scent. If you mutter a word about what I am, I will come after you and I will tear you to bloody pieces and leave you in the closest forest, where no one will ever find you."

"…fuck. That shouldn't be so hot."

The werewolf extended a claw, making sure Stiles could see that he did, and reached up to slice through the tattered pillow case to let him up. "Option one, then?"

Stiles nodded his head a little stupidly and was on his feet, following the werewolf to the staircase. "I'm Stiles," he said when they reached the second floor, which was a bedroom overlooking the bottom floor, with nothing more than a (admittedly huge) bed, a bedside table and a set of drawers. "And you are…?"

"Derek," he said, turning so he could push Stiles into the closest wall, right beside the bedside table.

"Derek _Hale_?"

"Yup." Derek hands moved quickly, slipping under Stiles' beanie to toss that to the ground while the other moved to his hip, and then he was kissing Stiles, pressing their bodies together and Stiles was holding on with his arms around Derek's shoulders, giving in straight away.

Of all the ways Stiles imagined this particular heist going, this certainly never entered his mind.

Derek was a dominant kisser and Stiles didn't care much to challenge him, letting Derek plunder and explore and control with his tongue and his lips and his teeth, until Stiles' mouth was wet and swollen and shiny and tingling. He'd have stubble-burn for days afterwards, but fuck it, he thought, and let his head drop back when Derek started to attack his neck.

In the back of his mind, Stiles was thinking about the fact that he was making out with a werewolf.

The rest of him didn't care.

He rolled into it when Derek's hands found the hem of his hoodie and he lifted his arms to help its removal, then Derek was pulling on the shirt he wore underneath. That ended up thrown down the stairwell, off to the side like it was trash. Stiles moved closer to Derek's heat — and he radiated heat like a fucking giant dog — and let his own hands roam over Derek's skin; flat palms down his pecks; fingertips rubbing at hardened nipples; thumbs stroking over his sinfully developed abs; fingers grabbing handfuls of his dark hair when they kissed again.

Derek palmed Stiles' arse roughly, pulling him in against him so they were crotch-to-crotch, rubbing against the other where they could feel the hard outlines of their cocks, thrusting a little and groaning into each other's mouths because it felt that good.

And when Stiles' phone started to vibrate in his pocket, it was Derek who pulled it out to answer it. His voice was gruff, much lower than it had been when he was speaking earlier.

"Stiles is busy. Call back in the morning." Stiles watched him turn it off and shivered when Derek slipped it back into his front pocket before leaning in to kiss him again.

"That was probably my partner in crime," Stiles breathed out between kisses and decided Scott was the lowest priority the moment Derek found that spot under his jaw that made his knees go weak and his eyes roll to the back of his head. His fingers dug into Derek's shoulders to keep him upright and then there was a knee shoved between his legs and a firm thigh pressed against his dick and Stiles might have bitten down on Derek's cheek when Derek started to rub that thigh _just so_ that it left the both of them moaning and very hot.

It was ridiculous how quickly Stiles was getting worked up. He wasn't a virgin — hadn't been a virgin since that one time when he and Scott and Allison had gotten a little too drunk and that had been the only time where he hadn't thought of them as his family — but he wasn't exactly overly experienced. Derek was the only one who'd ever thought of jumping (mauling) him like this when alcohol wasn't involved. He knew he wasn't going to last very long but hoped — God, did he ever hope — that he wasn't going to shoot in his pants like a teenager.

"Bed," he suggested, low and breathily, when he decided the best course to prevent that awful scenario was the get out of his pants and into the bed.

But Derek wasn't listening.

No, Derek reached down and unzipped Stiles' fly and started to kiss and bite and tongue his way down Stiles' chest, pausing briefly to bite at a nipple, before dropping to his knees in front of Stiles.

"Oh, fuck."

Derek left Stiles' abdomen a mess of red bites and purple bruises while he got Stiles out of his shoes, socks and pants, focusing on the skin below his belly button and above the waistband of his Batman briefs and fuck, of all the time to be wearing his Batman underwear, why the fuck did it have to be today?

When Derek had him in his briefs, he finally breached that waistband, slipping his hand under the elastic to grasp Stiles' hard cock and brought it out, pushing his underwear down just that little bit to give him all the access he wanted. He gave it a few strong, fast pumps, keeping his fist tight, and Stiles moaned in the back of his throat, watching him work his skin, before he lowered his mouth to the tip and licked him from the underside of the crown, swirling his tongue around the head and over the slit, as if he wanted a taste. It got a gasp out of Stiles, who went back to biting his lips.

Derek let out a growl as he nuzzled the base, lapping at the skin where Stiles' leg met his groin, letting his teeth scrape against the skin there, before turning his head and licking at the swollen flesh, a long strip up the underside of his cock. He swirled his tongue around the head again, catching whatever fluids Stiles dripped, listening to the gasps Stiles was making.

Stiles shuddered when Derek's lips fully closed over his member, wet and hot and tight, and Derek started to work him, closing that fist, too, holding him tightly, jacking him off in time with his mouth. Derek used his hand to cover what his mouth couldn't, but the wetter Stiles got, the smoother Derek's actions were, so he pressed one hand against Stiles' upper thigh and let the other drop down to cup his balls. He rolled them in his hand, palming them while taking Stiles as deeply as he could into his mouth, only pulling back when he felt his gag reflex cause him trouble.

Derek had done this before, Stiles decided and struggled against his body's natural instinct to thrust up into Derek's face. He doubted the werewolf would appreciate very much and Stiles' own instincts (because his brain certainly wasn't working) told him that pissing off the werewolf who had your dick in his mouth was a bad idea. Those fangs could do some terrible damage and Stiles' hand formed a fist that he slammed into the wall when Derek swallowed around him, taking his mind off the fact that Stiles was getting a blowjob from a werewolf.

The wall was cold on his back, all exposed brick like someone was renovating, while the front of him burned with the heat of Derek's hands and his mouth and his general being. With quick hands, Derek pulled his underwear down the rest of the way and Stiles stepped out of them, never once falling out of Derek's mouth. He tipped his head back, letting it fall against the wall, and stared up at the ceiling, panting wetly. Derek's tongue moved over his skin like this was why tongues evolved the way they did, and when Derek pulled off to lap at his testicles, Stiles spread his legs like a paid whore and gave him the access he wanted.

"Jesus, Derek," Stiles whimpered, feeling Derek crane his neck to suckle a ball into his mouth, keeping his teeth clear and covered while his tongue worked in circles around it. Stiles couldn't help it. His hand returned to Derek's hair and he gave it a firm tug and the groan Derek let out vibrated through Stiles' body, like it was electricity and Stiles was copper or silver. Derek moved on to the other testicle, giving it the same attention and Stiles' hand pulled again, making Derek groan again around his skin.

Stiles knew he'd be flushed terribly, from the heat of his face, down his chest, and he knew his cock would be deep red, bordering on purple, and Derek was just as flushed. The skin covering his cheekbones was pink, his mouth was wet and red and swollen. It was visually almost too much for Stiles.

Derek took him back in his mouth just as he leant over to the bedside table and opened up the single drawer there, fishing out the lubricant and a box of condoms. The box was tossed onto the bed without a second thought, without him missing a beat as he bobbed his head along Stiles' cock, and then he was flicking open the lube and warming up a dollop in his hands before he was running his wet fingers over Stiles' hole and Stiles encouraged him with a quick _yeah_ and _do it_. Derek didn't need to be told twice. It was just one finger first, breaching him swiftly, long and thick, and Stiles shuddered with it and held on to Derek's hair with both his hands.

It didn't take long for Derek to work in a second finger and it took even less time for him to find that little knot that would send Stiles cascading over the edge he'd been teetering on since they started rutting against each other.

"You — I'm…" was all Stiles managed and Derek sucked harder, milking his orgasm from him and Stiles gave in, letting it wash over him with tensed muscles and a groan that resounded throughout the loft.

Derek kept sucking until there was nothing left, swallowing everything he could, and, with a smugness to him that Stiles really wanted to tell him wasn't attractive (but it totally was), quickly steered Stiles to the bed when he realised Stiles had been left breathless and dizzy from his climax.

"Good?" Derek teased when Stiles was spread out on his back like he'd fallen twenty feet, limbs akimbo, as was his nature.

Stiles swallowed and laughed. "Yeah, man. Good."

Then Derek was leaning over him, kissing him again, and Stiles had his hands in his hair like his scalp was a magnet and Stiles' palm were metal.

Except, there really was another place Stiles wanted to touch him, so he lowered his hands down to Derek's sweatpants and pushed them down, grinning into Derek's mouth when he came into contact with his skin straight away because Derek wasn't wearing anything underneath them.

He dug his nails into the flesh there, spreading his legs and letting Derek fall between them so he could rut against Stiles' groin as if it wasn't a little sensitive from the blowjob.

They both worked Derek's pants down and they were lobbed away from the bed as Derek thrust against Stiles' skin, the skin between his leg and his dick, puffing wetly against Stiles' collarbone.

Stiles reached a hand down between them and wrapped it around Derek's shaft, giving Derek a hole to thrust into and Derek groaned at that, gave him a kiss to his chin for it. Stiles reached out with his other hand for the lube, but then Derek was pushing up, hovering above Stiles as if the bridge position didn't kill the average human, coaxing Stiles to turn around on the bed onto his stomach.

And Stiles obliged because really, he could still get it up like he was still a teenager. Nights with porn had taught him that much.

Derek reached for the lube again and spread more across his fingers. They were back in Stiles' body in no time, stretching him and Stiles felt his cock fill against the blankets

Somewhere off to the side, where Derek's pants had fallen, they heard his phone vibrate with two quick bursts with a message but they both ignored it. Derek chose to lower his head to the back of Stiles' neck instead, biting and sucking the skin there while moving his fingers deep inside the thief, whose fingers tightened in the blankets.

Stiles rocked back against Derek's fingers, forcing them in deeper, hating it whenever Derek slipped them back. It was Stiles who reached out for the box of condoms and opened it with shaky hands. He tore one off from the sheet and threw it back behind him, hoping it would land in Derek's general vicinity.

Derek huffed out a laugh and stopped fucking him with his fingers to tear the packet and roll the condom on. He then grabbed the back of Stiles' knee and pushed it up and out so Stiles was turned a little to the side and straddled his other leg. He held on to the base of his dick and started to push in.

Stiles stretched on his side, wrapping a hand around Derek's wrist while he was breached, digging his nails in, and Derek ducked down quickly to kiss Stiles and Stiles let out a deep sigh that relaxed him enough to let Derek bottom out. They groaned into each other's mouths, wetly, and stilled to let Stiles get accustomed to the thick length penetrating him.

As explained earlier, Stiles wasn't the most experienced when it came to having actual dicks up his arse, so he needed the time Derek gave him.

"This is not how I expected tonight to go," Stiles laughed breathily and groaned when Derek pulled back a little to apply more lubricant to his cock.

"You don't normally sleep with the people you're stealing from?"

"Nope. First time for everything, right?"

Derek slipped back in, easily this time, and Stiles nodded his head once, giving him the all clear to continue on.

And he did, gently, as if he knew Stiles wouldn't be used to being fucked.

Derek held on to Stiles' thigh and his rounded arse as he started to thrust into the younger man, hovering above him, rocking on his knees.

It hindered Stiles' ability to participate much, but every time he tried, Derek growled at him until he stopped. Stiles moaned, resting back against the pillows with his arms over his head but brought them down when Derek draped his body over Stiles', kissing him while snapping his hips up.

Stiles would be red and purple all over in the morning, he knew it, because when Derek wasn't just kissing him, he was biting and sucking bruises into his skin and his fingers were grasping his thigh and his hip so tightly, he was going to have ten bruises there for sure.

Not that he minded. No, he didn't mind at all.

His cock was just as hard as it was when Derek was blowing him, despite the fact that it hadn't been touched since then. It was wedged between his thigh and the bed, rubbing against the two with every move Derek made. Stiles feared it would drive him crazy. He ran his hands down Derek's sides, loving the feel of the muscles there, then up around his back and his shoulders, taking a guess as to where that tattoo was.

Derek let out his own little grunts against Stiles' neck, breathing short and sharp as he fucked into the thief with quick little snaps. Stiles would marvel later on how well their pelvises locked together; how well they were shaped for one-another, but Derek moved then, distracting Stiles, pulling out and repositioning Stiles so he was on his knees and slipped back in.

It got a laugh out of Stiles, who looked over his shoulder. "This is what I thought you were going to do," he chuckled. "Doggy style for a werewolf." He kept laughing right up until Derek slammed into him, holding his hips tight so he could steer Stiles back and forth along his cock and Stiles had no issue participating with that. He rocked back to slap his arse against Derek's hips each and every time, getting off on the feel of Derek's cock hitting him where he needed it and his own cockhead rubbing against the sheets under him if he dipped low enough.

Stiles was getting louder, unsurprisingly, as it went on, having to pause for a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow or else suffer the stinging pain of it in his eyes and Derek was more than accommodating. He slowed when Stiles couldn't match his pace or had to catch his breath or was bordering on coming again and brought him back away from the edge with simple petting and chaste kisses to his shoulders.

The only thing he didn't do was pay any attention to Stiles' dick and slapped his hands away every time Stiles tried to take matters into his own hands, literally. He'd say when Stiles was coming and Stiles got that very early on.

Derek's hands stayed on Stiles' hips or held onto him by his shoulders for extra leverage or they ran up and down that delicious dip in his back because Stiles was arching into him.

Stiles ended up face-first into the pillows, breathing harshly and then Stiles was coming untouched for the first time in his life, choking on the air he tried to take in. Every nerve singed and burned and he pulsed against the sheets, almost wailing with the feel of it and when he was empty, he collapsed forward while Derek fucked him through it.

Derek rearranged him so the was lying flat on his stomach on the bed and straddled him again, legs on either side of his arse before pushing in again and Stiles writhed against the sheets, content, and struggling to catch his breath, before Derek pressed himself again him and started to piston his hips again.

Stiles licked his lips and smiled reaching back so he could dig his nails into Derek's upper thigh and arse cheek and held on to the wrist by his head with the other and Derek pressed his forehead between Stiles' shoulder blades, kissing what skin he could reach. His thrusts were shorter and sharper now, losing the rhythm he had earlier, until he was finally there, his moans signalling it more than anything for Stiles. He bit down over one of the many bruises he left and jerked his hips up, filling the condom, and collapsed on Stiles' back like he wasn't two-hundred pounds or so of muscle.

Stiles was conscious long enough to feel Derek pull out and disappear briefly but couldn't find the strength in him to help or say anything when the other cleaned them up.

Come morning, Stiles was woken by the scent of coffee and fruit toast. His clothes were folded on the end of the bed but Derek was missing.

He got dressed and followed the scent, finding Derek and Isaac sitting at what had to be their kitchen bench (the kitchen wasn't really a conventional kitchen).

"Oh, umm…"

"Morning, Stiles," Isaac greeted him and Stiles felt himself flush.

Isaac looked better than when they were in high school. He looked healthier, happier.

"Hey."

"I hear you tried to rob a pair of werewolves last night."

Derek poured Stiles a cup of coffee and handed it to him, pushing the sugar bowl and the jug of milk towards him, too, before taking a bite of his toast.

"Yeah, about that…"

"I also recognised Scott the moment I saw him. I wasn't too sure about Allison, but I knew something was up when I recognised him. There was no way I was running into those two separately two weeks in a row without it being a coincidence."

Two pieces of toast popped up from the toaster and Derek gathered that for Stiles, too. They were placed on a plate and he replaced the milk with butter and the sugar with an assortment of jams. Stiles wasn't sure why but it certainly seemed to entertain Isaac, who was grinning at his housemate.

Derek just rolled his eyes and smacked him upside the head.

"So you're a werewolf too, now?" Stiles asked, spreading the butter over his toast. It was a little crispier than he normally made his own, but that was fine. He wasn't about to say something bad about the food the man he intended on robbing gave him without calling the police.

"Derek's mom gave me the bite when I turned eighteen. It was my choice."

"O-oh. You guys do that, huh? You just bite people whoever want it?"

"Only an alpha can turn a human into a werewolf," Isaac explained with a sigh. "Derek became an alpha after a fight with a different pack a year ago and I left with him as his beta."

"So you're the big bad wolf?" Stiles asked, looking up at Derek, who was watching him while he ate. Derek rolled his eyes at the cliché.

"We've been travelling, you know? Derek's looking for a ma…" Derek hit Isaac again and Isaac dropped the subject. "Scott's looking good these days."

"Yeah," Stiles agreed, finishing off his toast and his coffee before heading over to the case. Nothing had been touched except for the painting, which was hanging again. "He's been working out ever since we had trouble lifting a sculpture a few months back. You two hit it off, huh?"

Isaac ignored the question. "Isn't your dad the sheriff of Beacon Hills?"

Stiles glanced at Derek quickly, who looked to be communicating with him through his _eyebrows_. "Yes, okay, and he definitely doesn't know what I do for a living. I tell him I do research for a local university and he's proud of me." He packed up his tools and sighed longingly at the Carpaccio.

"You can't have it," Derek reminded him and Stiles sighed again, but for dramatic effect this time.

"So you screwed the guy who tried to rob us and I got the number from the guy who was supposed to be my distraction?" Isaac deduced with a raised eyebrow. "I don't think that's how it's supposed to go."

Derek shrugged at him and Stiles let him steer him to the front door. "He's right, you know," Stiles muttered but he shut up very quickly as Derek leant in for a kiss before he produced a piece of paper and waved it in front of Stiles. "What's this?"

"It's a list of pieces I can have shipped here whenever you feel like stealing one of them."

Stiles read over the list very quickly and felt his jaw drop. "Oh my…" Derek's words clicked in his head. "This is a very weird set up for a date."

Derek shrugged again and gave him another kiss and sent Stiles on his way.

It was the worst failed attempt at thievery to ever exist, but Stiles got away with so much more than he'd planned on taking.

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**Feel free to come and find me on Tumblr. I'm jinkohamilton there.**


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